


it's all futile, it's all pointless

by mushroomcow69



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angry Wilbur Soot, Angst, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insane Wilbur Soot, L'Manberg War of Independence on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Lonely TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Pre-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Scared TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushroomcow69/pseuds/mushroomcow69
Summary: in which tommy is the one to find wilbur in the button room
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 85





	it's all futile, it's all pointless

**Author's Note:**

> hello i just randomly wrote this random drabble in an hour and i have not edited or betaed it.  
> i really really dont like this n i wasn't gonna post it at all but i really like one of the lines so u get the whole thing LMAO. whiplash-worthy difference from the last fic i posted LOL. if you subbed from so call it what u want and expected more well thought out work, i sincerely apologize. heres some literally pointless angst

“I want it all gone.” 

Even from across the room, Tommy can see how his hands shake. He can see the shadow that’s fallen over his eyes, he can see the way he hunches his shoulders. 

“You can’t,” he takes a breath, short and unfulfilling, “we worked so hard.” 

The words glide over Wilbur’s head, not even close enough to ruffle the hair. His eyes are shallow and glassy. 

“That doesn’t mean anything, Tommy.” 

The room is completely still, like the air lost it's will and lay resigned by Tommy’s feet. It’s somehow more unsettling than it would be if it were the opposite, if he could feel wind brush by his face and whistle through the tension. But it’s just him. Just him and Wilbur, alone. Not even the wind came to protect him. 

“Of course it means something,” Tommy twitches his arms, hanging awkwardly by his side. His sixteen-year old stature wasn’t built for serious confrontations, his arms weren’t wired to _know what to do_ in this situation. Hell, he wasn’t wired to know what to do either. He didn’t have a fucking clue what to do.

“Of course it means something. Wilbur, you can’t,” the man doesn’t flinch at his name, doesn’t seem to even recognize it as his own, “the work we did, what we went through to get here, that’s the _only thing_ that means anything.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Wilbur repeats, annunciating each word like a warning. 

“I know you don’t-” Tommy freezes, tilts his head, “please look at me, Will. I know you don’t believe that.” 

Wilbur _almost scoffs_ , the closest he’s come to showing emotion yet, “You don’t know shit about what I believe.”

Tommy pushes down the pang in his chest, takes a wary step forward. His voice shakes. 

“I _know_ what you believe, Wilbur. You’re my brother, I know how you think,” he gains confidence, takes another step, voice rising in conviction, “I know y-”

“You don’t know me,” Wilbur snaps, head shooting up, meeting Tommy’s eyes for the first time, “ _You don’t know me._ ”

Tommy feels weightless, lost, hovering in place with not even so much as an inkling of what to do. The pain of Wilbur’s words registers somewhere, churning his heart vaguely. 

“You think you _know me_?” Wilbur spits, “You think you know how I feel, what I’m gonna do? Why, because we’ve spent time together? Because I spewed some bullshit about _brotherhood_?”

He glances to the floor, eyes the grout between the rough stone, and then looks back up, meeting Tommy square in his eyes, “That meant _nothing_ , Tommy.” 

Tommy freezes, eyes clouding over, mouth fallen open numbly. Wilbur takes the silence as a queue to continue. 

“You think this TNT cares about what it’s blowing up? You think the universe cares how long you worked? You’re delusional,” his eyes narrow, “You’re a child.” 

“ _Everything dies, Tommy_ ,” he whispers viciously, “No matter how hard you worked, no matter how much it means to you, everything falls the fuck apart at the end of the day. None of it matters, Tommy. None of it ever mattered.” 

“You can go about your life, you can have your belongings and homes and families,” Wilbur takes a step towards Tommy, a step away from the button, “You can care as much as you want, Tommy. It _won’t change anything_.” 

“Then why did you _do it_ ,” Tommy cries, lump catching in his throat, “If it meant nothing to you why did you do it?”

Wilbur chuckles, “Of course it meant something to me. But that doesn’t mean it _matters_. It doesn’t make it mean anything _in general_. I lived my life, I had my meanings and my attachments, and it was fun, but I’m not _naive_ ,” he spits the word like an accusation, “I know how it ends. You can care all you want, see if it makes your coffin any brighter,” his eyes go emotionlessly dark, “It’s all futile,” he murmurs indifferently, “It’s all pointless. I can see the grand picture” 

Tears roll down Tommy’s face, his words come out wet and broken, “ _But that doesn’t make it meaningless_!” 

“But it does, Tommy,” Wilbur’s words are far away, resigned, coated in something just south of sadness. “I haven’t _felt anything_ in a while, not since I realized how _pointless_ it is. We’re raised to think we have to feel, to think we have to add meaning to this life to make it worthwhile,” his eyes glimmer, “Let me tell you a secret, Tommy. _Nothing_ can make life worthwhile. You open yourself up, you let yourself feel, and for what? For brownie points? For humanity? So you can _have gone through something_? It’ll change nothing.” the shadows glint sharply off the walls, oozing from the corners like tar. Wilbur strides back to the button.

“You think there’s sympathy in Hell, Tommy?” 

Tommy begs the air to move. He begs the wind to run through his hair, the floor to ominously creak, anything to show that there was _something_ out there with him. The air doesn’t hear. Everything is still, perpetually _still and stagnant and numb_. 

“But,” the flame in the blazing boy is snuffed, voice quiet and weak, a forlorn last ditch effort, “How do you know? How do you know it doesn’t mean anything? It has to mean _something_. How,” he sputters desperately, “how do you _know_ that’s the grand picture?”

The air sits heavy between them, locked eye to eye in a silent plea. Wilbur’s words bounce through the room, ricocheting recklessly, chipping shards of stone from the walls. Tommy watches them fall. 

“How about I let you know,” Wilbur replies, and presses the button. 

**Author's Note:**

> i am only posting this because i really really like the line "you think there's sympathy in hell?" 
> 
> anyway apologies i can't promise something good soon but definitely work more thought out than this coming LMAO


End file.
